


Coffee Break

by badwolfbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbakerstreet/pseuds/badwolfbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a snowstorm envelops London, Molly finds herself stuck at the morgue and desperately in need of a coffee break. As she waits for her daily dose of caffeine, Lestrade arrives for a surprise visit-- and he's much less interested in the coffee than he is in the girl making it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Break

London was blanketed in a soft white snow, and as the clouds grew heavy with winter, the wind whipped through the carless streets. There was a stillness hanging in that city, and none recognized that quiet peace better than Molly.

                Granted, that’s because she was stuck in the morgue and the entirety of her company was, well, dead.

                It had been a long, slow day on her behalf, which, for what it’s worth, was probably a good thing. However, it left the brunette bored out of her mind. She looked out the small window, waiting for the ancient coffee machine to surrender the much needed energy source and letting her eyes wander across the white street ahead. For a moment, the peace was so perfect that she nearly fell asleep right then and there, leaning up against the cool glass.

                “Ah, Molly, there you are!”

                The door creaked open from the other side of the room as Greg entered the room, stirring Molly from her daze. “Oh! Hi, hello,” she sputtered out, “Um, were you- can I help you?” Her eyebrows knitted together; she didn’t get visitors often, particularly not when there was a distinctive lack of dead people in the room.

                “Yes, actually, you can,” Greg offered, walking over the coffee machine. “You mind?” he asked, tilting his head at the coffee. After a quick smile and shake of the head from Molly, he grabbed two cups from the nearby rack and poured the steaming liquid into each. “Sugar?”

                Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her cheek, Molly walked over to the table. “Yeah, just a little. If you don’t mind.” She watched Greg as he mixed the sugar into the cup and even as he handed her the mug, the confused look never left her face.

                “Are you alright?” he asked, taking of sip of his coffee and mirroring the confounded look.

                “Yeah. I’m fine- great, really. It’s just that, well, I don’t understand why you’re here. Did someone...has somebody died?” She looked down, up, at the peeling paint to her left, anywhere but at him. For a moment, the quiet returned; then, deep laughter shattered the stillness.

                “Really,” he began, a lopsided smile splayed across his face, “do you honestly think that the only reason you’d get a visitor here is if someone’s bit the dust?” Her cheeks flushed a light pink and her mouth opened and shut a few times, but just as she was about to argue that historically, well, that has been the case, she was interrupted. “And did you really not expect someone to come visit you on your birthday of all days?”

                She was stunned. Whether it was by the fact that he knew that it was her birthday or if it was because he came to visit her despite the snowstorm, she didn’t know. Well, she did, and it was an unholy mixture of both. Her head spun with questions, yet all she was able to express was one syllable.

                “No,” she stated, and as his eyebrows shot up in what seemed to be surprise, she felt her face grow hotter. “I mean, it’s just that I work in the morgue,” as if he didn’t know, she mentally chided herself, “w-which isn’t exactly a popular spot. You know, for living people.” Smooth, Molly, she thought, rolling her eyes at her own statement. Caught up in her own mental battle with herself, she missed Greg’s smile returning slowly to his face; in fact, she never noticed how quickly it faded when she flat out stated that didn’t even expect anyone to bother visiting on her birthday. “Listen, Greg,” she said, a smile returning to her lips as his name passed through them, “it’s nice of you to stop by, but you really don’t have to be here-“

                “Yes I do,” he stated, cutting her off. “No one should be alone on their birthday. Especially not you, Molly.” If it were possible for her face to get pinker, it would have the second he reached over and grabbed her hand. For the record, it was _very_ much possible. She laughed softly, at the embarrassment of becoming so red and at the tickling feeling that came from having his calloused thumb draw a circle on her soft hand. “I wanted to give you a present,” he said, smiling and reaching into his jacket pocket.

                As much as she’d miss the warmth of his hand, she pulled away and shook her head slowly. “I don’t need anything,” she murmured, eyes locked on his. “It’s really sweet of you, but-“

                “Molly,” he sighed, still smiling. “Just open it, would you?” He grabbed her left hand and set the sloppily wrapped gift gently into her palm. Stepping back and throwing his hands up in surrender, he smirked. “No take backs now.”

                Infected with his grin, a smile of her own found its way onto her lips. Pulling her eyes away from the man a few feet away, she looked down at the red wrapping paper. Carefully unwrapping the delicate paper, she unveiled a rectangle- shaped velvet blue box with intricate gold designs embedded on top. Looking up, eyes wide and screaming “if this is expensive, the next dead body in this room will be yours,” she was about to complain about what seemed to be a pricey piece of jewelry. She was stopped, however, by his small smile and soft shake of the head.

                “Take a look before you decide to get upset,” he said with a gleam in his eyes that she couldn’t quite understand. Resigned, she bit her lip and discarded the ripped paper onto the table next to the cup of coffee that she had yet to take a sip of. For a moment, she contemplated not opening it at all, but after glancing up once more and seeing the encouraging smile on Greg’s face, she gave in and lifted the lid on the box. Nestled on top of a velvet cushion the same colour as the box itself were two white silk gloves. She set the box down and grabbed the gloves from within.

                For a moment, she was silent, but when the curiosity got the best of her, she couldn’t help but speak her mind. “I don’t get it,” she blurted, looking up from the gloves to the chuckling man only a few steps away. Clearly, her confusion was obvious, which made her embarrassed if not a little annoyed.

                Greg, on the other hand, looked as though he was having a fantastic time just watching her trying to figure it out, which he was, of course. After a moment of watching her shift from one foot to another, clearly waiting for an answer, he finally gave in.

                Crossing his arms and closing the gap between them, spare a few inches, he looked her over once. “They’re gloves,” he announced, a wide smile playing across his face.

                Molly rolled her eyes and sighed, eventually resolving to smack his shoulder with the gloves instead of saying something rude. “Yes, I’ve got that much,” she retorted, crossing her arms just as he did. “They’re very nice, but-“

                “But you were expecting something a little nicer,” he finished. Not skipping a beat despite her mouth opening to argue, he continued, “and you have every right to think that way, Molly Hooper. You deserve a hell of a lot more than what you get. Those gloves are for you to wear Friday night, because Friday, we are going to go out to dinner and see a show at that new theater downtown- the one you mentioned when we were chatting together a few months ago while we were waiting for lab results. You were enamored with the theater, and I was- am- enamored with you. So what do you say? You, me, a pair of white gloves, and a night on the town?” He finished with a sharp inhale. The more he spoken, the more his smirk faded into a genuine smile. His eyes softened with every word, and leave it to Molly to notice the nervousness that etched his face. After explaining himself, he looked down with a small nod.

                For a moment, there was silence; then, the room echoed with the simple sound of a kiss being planted on a stubbly cheek.

                Her eyes smiled almost as much as her mouth did, and as soon as he saw her eyes light up, Greg’s face copied suit. “Of course I’d go with you,” Molly replied, looking adoringly at the gloves and then at the man who gave them to her. “It’s just, well, I never realized you paid so much attention to our conversations. I figured that they were to be polite. I didn’t know you thought I mattered.”

                Greg’s eyes softened and he grabbed her hand again. “Of course you matter. You matter a lot to me, Molly Hooper.” The two stayed like that, holding hands and breathing in each other’s presence as the snow continued to drift slowly and quietly outside the window. After a few moments, a small laugh bubbled past Molly’s red lips. After catching a curious look being shot from Greg’s eyes, she simply shook her head.

                “It’s nothing. Just that the coffee’s probably cold.”


End file.
